


Pilot: The Mute

by Your_Panties



Series: The Boys of the Wastelands [2]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 16:53:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6384664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Your_Panties/pseuds/Your_Panties
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pilot, the driver of Mellow's crew, cannot speak. He 'speaks' with motions, writing words in the sand, tracing his fingers over people's skin to make words. Vad is his 'translator'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pilot: The Mute

There was one thing Pilot understood about not understanding; it’s hard to understand a man who can’t do anything but gurgle. There had been a time where he could talk, the mute boy. Alas, that time had long passed and he was reduced to a simple man who could only voice his thoughts as signs, hand motions and choked noises and laughs. Once upon a time, Pilot had a tongue. A tongue that allowed him to talk and laugh and fuck around with his crew. That time had been long left behind. 

See, in the Immortan’s Citadel, battle fodder does not blaspheme the ‘holy’ immortan or his sons. The Man-Child, Rictus, in particular. Rictus, a giant oak of a man, does not take kindly to anyone shredding his name or his father’s. It’s not chrome or shine at all. Now, that was the one thing Pilot did: blaspheme. The punishment for blasphemy is unwritten, as are all the laws and punishments in the wasteland they live. The Immortan does not mind what Rictus does, who he hurts, who he punishes- it enforces the idea that he’s in charge. Rictus decided, on his own accord, that the best and most gruesome punishment would be to simply take out Pilot’s silver tongue. 

There were many ways this could be done, the Organic Mechanic had pointed out as Pilot’s heart beat wildly in his chest. However, Rictus’ favorite was cutting Pilot’s poor tongue in two and pulling. There was no anesthesia left in the desert, if there ever was to begin with. The last tug of the severed parts of his tongue tore with a sickening squelch and a strangled cry as Pilot’s blood ran in rivulets down his chin, spotting his chest with thick scarlet. The muscle was twitching between Rictus’ meaty fingers, the nerves spasming in the hot desert air. “Please,” Pilot tries to speak but it’s a strangled sob as tears run down his cheeks, diluting the blood spattered on his cheeks.


End file.
